


spun sugar and shaky hands, among other things

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, straight-up disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: It’s easy to ignore the weird and sad things you feel around your best friend, because he’s your best friend, and so he tends to make you happy. Any weird, irregular things that may or may not happen in his heart can be ignored as long as they’re not signs of cardiovascular distress, and Andrew’s not making any calls to the trainers about this.(Or: Travis gets called up. Andrew realizes stuff.)





	spun sugar and shaky hands, among other things

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> "who ARE these guys" okay well first off travis dermott invented happiness so you can jot that down. andrew nielsen is his bud on the marlies! they flirt on instagram a lot and have been ruining my life for months now! recently the marlies put out [these](https://leafsnation.mapleleafs.com/lnn/video/20-questions-travis-dermott) [videos](https://leafsnation.mapleleafs.com/lnn/video/20-questions-andrew-nielsen) of them and let me tell you, they are a lot. thanks to ali and rachel for the beta work <3

Look, Andrew’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, okay?

He’s a hockey player. Ignoring his feelings is pretty much his livelihood, and anyway, it’s easy to ignore the weird and sad things you feel around your best friend, because he’s your best friend, and so he tends to make you happy. Any weird, irregular things that may or may not happen in his heart can be ignored as long as they’re not signs of cardiovascular distress, and Andrew’s not making any calls to the trainers about this. Andrew’s good, the Marlies are good, hockey is good, and everything is good, until—

“Hello?” Travis says, picking up his phone.

There’s a slight crease in his brow as he does it, and it’s the first thing that catches Andrew’s attention. He very vaguely starts to worry, but then Trav’s face does this thing that’s like, half pure joy, half horror, and—

Andrew’s been in the AHL for over a year, now, so even before he hears the words “It’s an honor—really, this is a dream—uh, sorry, yeah, I’ll head over there” come out of Travis’ mouth, Andrew knows exactly what’s happening.

Travis is being called up.

Andrew quickly tries to gather himself and figure out what he should be feeling. If Travis wasn’t, like, out-of-this-world good, he thinks he’d be jealous, but he’s not, really.

Or, he is a little bit, but that’s not the reason his stomach is doing this weird fluttering thing right now, because now, Travis is hanging up and smiling, and Andrew’s knees are kind of weak, suddenly.

“Holy shit,” Travis says, almost disbelieving, but so, so happy. His hands are shaking as he scrolls through his contacts, like he knows he has to call somebody but can’t contain his excitement long enough to actually find their number and hit the call button.

“Trav?” Andrew asks. He’s grinning too, he realizes—it’s hard not to grin when Travis’ face looks the way it does. “Is this—what’s happening?”

“I—” Travis says. “Dude.” He looks up, and jesus, since when are eyes, like, legally allowed to be that blue?

“You’re heading to the show,” Andrew says, and he’s smiling too wide, now, but Travis is smiling right back.

“I need to—god, I need to call my dad,” Travis says. “Shit, I need to get over there, like, now.”

“Call your fam, then call an Uber,” Andrew says. He kind of laughs, because Travis is a fucking mess right now, in the best possible way.

Travis shakes his head. “No, my car is here—I have to figure out—”

Andrew puts a hand up. “Okay, one thing at a time. Call your dad, then we’ll worry about transportation.”

Travis nods hastily, then hits the call button as he walks away, which leaves Andrew alone in the lobby of Ricoh with a lot more feelings than he knows what to deal with, so naturally, the next move is to find Dicky, because Dicky knows how to handle any and all situations.

Thankfully, Dicky is pretty easy to find.

“Hey,” Andrew says, and his voice sounds kind of dazed to his own ears. “Derms got called up.”

“Yeah?” Dicky says, smiling. “Where is he? I gotta congratulate him.”

“He’s on the phone with his dad right now,” Andrew says, and Dicky nods.

“Alright,” he says. “How’re you holding up?”

“I mean—I’m good,” Andrew says. “We all knew he’d get the nod before me, right? I’m happy for him.”

“Sure, but you guys are close.”

Andrew blushes, and he’s not really sure why. “I mean, sure, but he’s—it’s a callup. This is good stuff.”

“No doubt about it,” Dicky says, but he’s giving Andrew a look like he doesn’t quite believe him.

“So,” Andrew says, clearing his throat. “He’s gotta drive to the ACC, but I’m, like, legit worried that he’s gonna crash his car he’s so nervous?”

“Ah,” Dicky says, and he snaps into dad mode, and Andrew feels relieved for a bunch of reasons he’s not gonna examine right now.

They find Travis in the lobby, just hanging up the phone, and after Dicky gives Travis what Andrew thinks is an actual full minute-long hug, he guides him through a few deep breathing exercises.

“You’re gonna be great, buddy,” Dicky says. “You got this, okay?”

“Right,” Travis says, and his face is so excited that Andrew has to look away. “Well, I guess I should head out.”

“Good luck, kid,” Dicky says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Travis turns to Andrew, and he looks like he’s expecting something. A goodbye, Andrew realizes.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Andrew blurts out, then turns to Dicky. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Dicky nods, then heads back toward the locker room, and Travis and Andrew make their way out to the parking lot. The first thing Andrew realizes the second he sets foot outside is that it’s really fucking cold out, and he’s just wearing a sweatshirt, but he figures he can withstand the weather for a few minutes. For Travis.

“Did they tell you when you’re gonna play?” he asks, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Travis shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “Just heading to practice today.”

“Let me know if they tell you,” Andrew says. “I wanna watch.”

Travis smiles. “Hopefully you won’t have a game.”

“Eh, maybe I could get them to make me a healthy scratch,” Andrew says.

Travis laughs. “If Lilypad’s not back and I’m out, they probably wouldn’t go for it.”

“Probably not,” Andrew concedes. “Well, we could always go with plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Fake an injury,” Andrew says. “Plan C is actually get injured, but that’s probably irresponsible.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Travis says. “People will start to think the team’s cursed if you get hurt as soon as I get back.”

They’re at Travis’ car now, and Andrew can’t really feel his fingers. “I mean, you weren’t back for all that long.”

“It’s a good thing that we’re not super far away,” Travis says. “I’ll tell everyone you say hi, yeah?”

“For sure,” Andrew says.

Travis hesitates for a second, and then he’s pulling Andrew in for a hug, tight and shaky and warm against the cool January air.

It takes Andrew by surprise, even though it really shouldn’t—they’re really close, and this is a pretty big deal, the kind of thing people normally hug over, and the two of them hug plenty, but still, Andrew’s heart is going a million miles a minute, and it feels like a lot, for some reason.

But, like. It’s Travis, so Andrew hugs back, no hesitations.

“Thank you,” Travis murmurs, low in Andrew’s ear, and Andrew squeezes him tight.

“What for?” Andrew asks.

“For making sure I didn’t crash my car,” Travis says, and Andrew can hear the smile in his voice. “And just—for everything.”

“Of course,” Andrew says, then claps Travis on the back once before pulling away. He misses the contact pretty much immediately, but he tells himself that’s because of the cold.

Travis gives him one last smile before he climbs into his car, and Andrew knocks on the hood as he backs up.

He stares at the car as it drives away, even though the wind is biting at his face, and he feels—

He doesn’t really know how he feels, honestly, but whatever it is, it sticks with him for the rest of the day.

……

The actual realization that he’s, like, definitely in love with Travis doesn’t hit him until later, when he’s watching the video of Travis doing media for the fourth time in a row.

In hindsight, he probably should’ve realized it earlier—like, maybe when he’d immediately hit ‘replay’ after the video finished the first time, or really, at any point in the last year and a half—but again, Andrew’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.

……

It’s, like, pretty bad, though.

Travis has really nice eyes, and a really great smile, and it’s just—it’s a lot for Andrew to deal with, and that’s just from the interviews, and then they have him play in an actual game.

It’s probably a good thing that Andrew’s sitting, honestly, because his knees are literally, actually weak. Like, he’s straight-up _swooning,_ that’s how good Travis is, and how bad Andrew’s got it for him.

“He looks good out there,” Dicky says, which, like, old fucking news, Travis looks good all the time.

“He’s an NHL player,” Andrew says, because there’s not really much else he has to offer.

Travis looks at home, comfortable, even though he’s only been with the team for a few days. He’s good, and Andrew has always known that, but still, there’s something about the way he’s playing that’s really difficult for Andrew to deal with.

It’s the confidence, he thinks. The confidence, and the fact that he has the talent to back it up.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Dicky says.

“Talk about what?”

Dicky nods at the screen. “Your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” Andrew says, blushing, but it sounds like a lie, which doesn’t make any sense, because Travis isn’t his boy. They’re just—close friends, and Andrew is totally in love with him, but Travis isn’t, like, his.

“Sure,” Dicky says, “but…”

Andrew sighs. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “He’s my best friend, y’know? And I was thinking—after he got called up, how he’s just—I don’t know.”

“You miss him,” Dicky says.

“Yeah,” Andrew says. “And I also—I’m maybe in love with him?”

There’s a second of silence, and Andrew’s staring at the glass of water in his hands, watching the condensation drip down the side and trying to ignore the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Well,” Dicky says. “Glad you caught on to that.”

Andrew groans. “Is it seriously that obvious?”

“To me,” Dicky says. “But I’ve been around a lot longer, I’ve seen this kind of thing happen a few times.”

“You’re thirty, stop acting like a wise old man,” Andrew says.

“No,” Dicky says. “Take my wisdom. Talk to him about your feelings.”

Andrew falls off the couch.

It’s probably an unnecessary move, and it’s really only half by accident, half him not bothering to catch himself because he’s in the mood to be dramatic.

“Absolutely not,” Andrew says. “What the fuck.”

“He adores you, kiddo,” Dicky says.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s into me.”

“Well, sure, but he’s gonna be nice no matter what,” Dicky says. “Listen, if it were anyone else, I’d get it if you want to be more cautious, but this is Trav we’re talking about. He’s not capable of making people unhappy.”

Which, like, isn’t true, because Travis could totally break Andrew’s heart. Easily. It’s very fragile, right now; not exactly like glass, but like—cotton candy, maybe. Sticky, messy, could easily be squished up into a ball, left on the ground, and stomped on.

“I dunno, man,” Andrew says. “It just sucks.”

Dicky pats his knee sympathetically. “I know it does,” he says. “You two will figure it out, though.”

Andrew wouldn’t be so sure of that, but he knows Dicky’s trying to be helpful, so he just shrugs, and lets it end there.

……

So it’s fine, until it’s not.

Which. Duh. But—

Normal friendship with Travis becomes confusing for Andrew, alright? Because Travis is sweet and flirty and has very blue eyes and uses a shitton of heart emojis and smiles all the time and also, Andrew’s in love with him.

So it’s like, Andrew gets back from a roadie, and he’s in Travis’ living room, listening to him talk about how excited he is to travel on a plane—which Andrew might begrudge him a little, but mostly he teases him for being so quick to leave behind his AHL roots.

“Hey, no,” Travis says, bringing one foot onto the couch as he turns to face Andrew. “Planes are fancy as fuck, but the bus is sacred, man.”

“Promise you won’t watch any good movies without me,” Andrew says, and Travis scoffs.

“Like I would even think to,” Travis says. “Movies are our thing, man. I’m the one who should be worrying about you.

“Me?” Andrew says.

“Uh, yeah,” Travis says. “I’m like, the new kid in school, and the plane’s like the cafeteria at lunchtime.”

“You have friends on the team,” Andrew says.

“I mean, they’re all nice, but they have their seats and stuff.” He shrugs, then looks at his hands. “I wish you could come with us.”

“Aw,” Andrew says, half-touched, half-teasing, totally ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. “You’re such a softie.”

“Fuck you, I’m trying to be serious,” Travis says, blushing a little bit, but he’s also smiling, and Andrew’s chest literally hurts, he likes him and wants him so fucking much. “It’s so cool being up, but it’s a lot. So I just—y’know. Thanks for sticking with me through it, I guess.”

“Of course,” Andrew says, trying to sound friendly and casual, missing by, like, so many miles.

He wants to wince at the way his voice sounds all soft and serious, but it makes him feel so vulnerable—like he’s naked, laying himself bare in front of Travis just because he can’t keep his stupid feelings at bay for long enough to have a normal conversation, except then Travis looks at him, and it’s like—like he’s _seeing_ Andrew like this, but also, like he’s there too, exposing how fucking much he cares right back. It’s so _much,_ and so fast, because a second ago they were joking, and now they’re just kind of staring at each other in a beat of silence that’s everything but awkward.

It’s this loaded moment, heavy and feather-soft at the same time, which, like, story of Andrew’s in-love-with-Travis-Dermott life, but also, this feels like something coming to a head.

Andrew’s mouth falls open a little bit, and when Travis’ eyes flicker down to Andrew’s lips, he realizes that he’s got a decision to make, either say something or do something, because he knows his heart won’t stop pounding until he does. There’s an _I love you_ on the tip of his tongue, and this warm buzz on his lips, and he’s got to act on one or the other, so he doesn’t think as he makes his choice.

For the record: Travis Dermott? Really, _really_ good kisser.

Like, for one, he’s Travis, so he’s never done anything wrong or bad in his entire life. He makes this unbelievably cute noise when their mouths meet, but also kisses back immediately, which saves Andrew a couple seconds of unimaginable agony. It’s kind of like, the best feeling in the world, too, the way Travis kisses him so fast, because it’s the same unrestrained enthusiasm that he has about everything, but like, right against Andrew’s mouth.

It’s sort of like the Travis Dermott equivalent of a kiss, which makes sense, because he’s kissing Travis Dermott, but it’s also like—

Like.

Andrew. Is kissing Travis.

And there shouldn’t be anything wrong with this moment, because Travis is kissing Andrew back, but there is, because Andrew also kind of wants a lot more than kissing, in a lot of different ways.

The small tugging feeling in his heart, though, is nothing compared to the general vibe of overwhelming joy, so Andrew just keeps kissing him, because he can feel Travis smiling against his mouth, and he’s not giving that up any time soon.

They go at it for a while.

Maybe, like, 15 minutes, or four hours, or something. Andrew’s not really sure, because he’s not exactly checking the clock, and time seems to speed up and slow down at random when you’re kissing the most perfect guy on the face of the planet. He does know for sure that Travis takes one minutes and fourteen seconds to go to the bathroom, at some point, before he does this dumb half-run, half-slipping thing in his socks across the hardwood floors and jumps onto the couch, straddling Andrew’s legs; he also knows that when they first started making out, it was light out, and by the time they pull apart for good, breathing heavily, Andrew’s first “go to sleep” alarm is buzzing.

“I should probably head out,” he says, and Travis makes a dissatisfied noise.

“Stay,” he says. “This is fun.”

“I know, but we have places to be tomorrow,” Andrew says. “Don’t you have morning skate before you fly out?”

“I mean, yeah, but—” Travis exhales, and his face is close enough that Andrew can feel the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know. I don’t want this to end tonight, I guess.”

Andrew feels a rush of something up his spine, and he can’t quite put a word to the feeling, but it makes him squeeze Travis’s hips and say, “It won’t.”

It sounds like a promise, this low, solemn thing that seems to steady both of them, even though Andrew’s pretty sure the world is not spinning on its usual axis, right now.

“Okay,” Travis says, the softest smile playing on his lips, and Andrew pretty much has to kiss him one last time.

And, like, of course that one last kiss turns into a thousand last kisses, and it takes Andrew thirty more minutes than it should to leave, but the last thing he sees before falling asleep is a “sweet dreams!” snap from Travis, so he gets a pretty great night’s sleep, all things considered.

……

So, they don’t talk about it in so many words, but they keep flirting with each other as much as they always have for the next few days, which Andrew takes to mean that things aren’t _not_ going well, at the very least.

Also, he’s happy.

Like, really happy.

Like, so happy he wonders if random people walking down the street can tell he’s happy, because he’s pretty sure he’s starting to walk like a cartoon character having a good day, swinging his arms confidently, bouncing a little every time he takes a step. He doesn’t think it’s too strange; this kind of thing is probably par for the course in these types of situations. The Travis Dermott effect, or something.

In fact, he’s so happy that when Dicky switches seats with Brooksy halfway through the ride back to Toronto from Bridgeport, Andrew assumes they’re gonna have a talk about why he’s so happy.

Which, they kind of do.

Kind of.

“So,” Dicky says, “I just want to start by saying—don’t freak out about this, okay?”

Andrew furrows his brow. “Don’t freak out about what?”

“I know there’s something up with you and Travis—” Andrew smiles at the mention of Travis’ name, tries to hide it when he realizes that he’s probably not being super subtle, but fails, because not smiling while thinking about Travis is totally off the table these days “—and I’m very happy for you, but I think there might be some confusion on his end.”   

“Confusion?” Andrew says, his once-unstoppable grin now fading slowly. Way to kill a mood, Dicky.

“I know this isn’t intentional, but I think you haven’t been very clear with him about your… intentions,” Dicky says.

“What do you mean?” Andrew says.

“Okay, so, I know you’re crazy about each other,” Dicky says. “But I think Trav might be a little less sure.”

“Wait,” Andrew says. “You’re telling me he doesn’t know if he’s into me?”

“No, I’m saying that he doesn’t know if you’re into him,” Dicky says.

“What?” Andrew says. “How?”

“Because feelings are confusing, and Travis is dealing with a lot of new stuff, right now,” Dicky says. “And he’s a super happy guy, but he’s not the best with stress.”  

“So I’m… stressing him out?” Andrew says, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

“The uncertainty is stressing him out,” Dicky says. “Again, don’t freak out—”

“He’s stressed,” Andrew says. “And I caused it.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like you did anything terrible,” Dicky says.

Which is wrong, because if Travis is unhappy, Andrew most definitely did something terrible.

Andrew apparently says that out loud, because Dicky says, “You’re not gonna accomplish anything by falling back on self-blame.”

Andrew sighs. “I know,” he says, even though it’s pretty tempting. “I just—how do I fix it?”

“Well, again, just tell him how you feel,” Dicky says. “You know, directly. With words. Not right now, because he’s got a game tonight, but—make plans to see him after. Have a short talk, get on the same page.”

“But talking is hard,” Andrew says, and the whiney tone he says it in is a joke, but the sentiment is very real.

“You’re fine,” Dicky says. “You’ve just gotta put in some time and figure out the best words to say, then say them. Write them down, if you need to.”

“Write them down,” Andrew repeats. “Alright, I—I’ll do that.”

“Let me know if you need some encouragement,” Dicky says. “I’m rooting for you kids.”

“Again, you’re _thirty.”_

“I call guys older than you ‘kid,’ and they don’t complain,” Dicky says.

“Alright,” Andrew says. “Thanks, _dad.”_ He means for it to come out a little more sarcastic, but he doesn’t regret the fondness that seeps into it.

“Any time,” Dicky says. “Now, go get to work on getting your man.”

……

So, as it turns out, words are every bit as hard as Andrew had expected.

His thumbs hurt from typing and retyping a billion sentences on his phone, each of which attempts to capture what he wants Travis to know. Because it’s not like he can just say, “I love you,” because those words mean something very different now that the thing with Travis is a lot more real. He could just go with, “I really like you,” but he’s pretty sure everyone really likes Travis, and he’s definitely too old to say something like, “I like-like you” or “I have a crush on you.”

He could go for something gimmicky, like a, “Do you like me? Check yes, no, maybe,” but that seems too cheesy for something this honest, and he tries to just write down every sentence that comes into his head when he thinks about Travis, but it’s a jumbled mess of weird metaphors about sunshine, poorly-drawn emojis, and repetitions of the phrase “I don’t even know.”  

He really, truly tries everything. He browses the Hallmark website on his phone. He watches promposal videos and clips from Nicholas Sparks movies. He even tries his hand at making a playlist, except no song or collection of songs actually feels like it can really capture why Andrew is so gone on Travis, because if Andrew can’t find a way to express it, there’s no way a stranger can.

Like. Andrew’s starting to _get_ poetry now. He reads a few Shakespeare sonnets about being in love, and they still make no fucking sense to him, but at least he can understand why someone would choose to write a poem. Words that don’t make sense seem like a much more honest way to describe feelings than words that do.

But Andrew’s not a poet, so he can’t do that, either.

He spends the bus ride working on it, and the few hours he has after they get back to Toronto before he’ll have a chance to actually see Travis, too. The Leafs are playing the Avs, and Andrew turns on the game for inspiration, and it’s not exactly unhelpful, getting to see Travis live, remembering that he misses him a lot, that he’s excited to see him and touch him again in person—

It doesn’t give him any more words, though.

Andrew thinks about what he wants, like, in very concrete terms. He wants to kiss Travis again, and do, like, a lot more than kissing; he wants to hold his hand and take him out to dinner and do all the cheesy romantic crap that he can already tell they’ll be awesome at; he wants to spend so much time together that their apartments become shared spaces, give Travis a drawer or something, considering Andrew already has found more than a few Erie Otters shirts lying around his place. He wants to smell his laundry detergent in Travis’ clothing and his shampoo in Travis’ hair, and he wants to keep being best friends, and just round out the edges of that, because they’re already pretty much each other’s anyway.

Really, he just wants to spend as much time as possible with Travis, and that, at least, gives him the idea to head over to the ACC, because he figures he’s not gonna get anything out of pacing around his living room.

It’s a good idea. Like, romantic surprises are a definite step in the right direction, and surprising Travis after a game qualifies as a romantic surprise. He doesn’t have, like, a bouquet of flowers or a romantic speech prepared, sure, but he waits by Travis’ car in the parking lot, and when his phone buzzes soon after he hears the game end, it’s a text from Travis.

 _travss_ : _hey_   _wyd tn?_

_Andrew: nothin_

_travss_ : _movie night?_

_Andrew: always_

It makes him feel a little better about the fact that he’s waiting for him in a freezing cold parking lot in the middle of January, because it means that Travis _wants_ to see him, which bodes well for this plan, and also because texts from Travis tend to make Andrew feel warm inside, as a general rule.

Andrew doesn’t really know how long media stuff usually takes, or how long he should be expecting to wait, but it’s not, like, too bad. He tries to brainstorm more possible words to say, maybe hoping the fact that he’s about to see Travis any minute will spur some emergency writing instinct, but it’s still kind of a lost cause, so he resigns himself to Tiny Wings for the time being.

Which might not have been the best idea, if only because he gets kind of absorbed in it, and doesn’t actually look up from the screen until he’s forced to by a very enthusiastic hug.

“Wow, rude,” he says, wrapping his arms around Travis. “You made me lose.”

“What are you doing here?” Travis asks, pulling away, but Andrew doesn’t want to stop touching him, so he pockets his phone and leaves his other hand on Travis’ waist.

“I don’t know,” Andrew says, brushing a thumb along Travis’ cheek. “I missed your stupid face, I guess.”

Travis doesn’t say anything, just grins at Andrew, his usual dimpled, full-faced thing. Andrew looks into his eyes, which is kind of like staring into the sun, because it feels dangerous, and overwhelming, and his instinct is to look away, but he doesn’t.

Andrew has never really understood what people mean when they say that eyes are the window to the soul, if he’s being honest. Like, he could probably get lost in Travis’ eyes right now—he already kind of is, because they really are so fucking blue—but he doesn’t think he’s seeing anything that’s not already in the rest of Travis’ body language.

Like, Travis is happy. He can tell that because Travis is usually happy, which is the way things should be, but he can also read it in his smile, because it’s the big, uncontained one that Andrew’s seen so many times before. Travis has a lot of love in his heart, and he gives it out in spades, and the best part about it is, Travis’ smiles are always genuine, and even when there’s other stuff happening, he’s got a constant undercurrent of happiness.

Travis is nervous. Andrew can feel it in his hands, in the way he’s grasping at Andrew’s shoulders with the smallest shake of hesitation. It’s not a bad-nervous, really, just a note of change, and Andrew feels the same way.

Travis is excited. Andrew can hear it in his breath, coming in kind of shallow and kind of fast, and that’s just Travis—usually happy, but always excited. And the excitement is related to the happiness and the nerves, but it’s also its own thing, because the excitement is shared, and it’s new, and it’s something that’s building and shifting the longer Andrew stands here just looking into Travis’ eyes.

And Travis is sure, which he can tell by how close Travis is standing.

He’s not sure what Travis sure of, but it’s something, and that’s enough to put Andrew at ease.

“I kind of want to kiss you again,” Andrew says, his voice low.

Travis blinks, like his mind had been wandering, but he doesn’t miss a beat before he says, “Only kind of?”

“I’m trying to play it cool,” Andrew says, grinning. “It’s a legitimate approach.”

“Well, as long as you’re only playing it cool,” Travis says, and he’s laughing a little as he leans in to kiss him, a slow, soft thing that ends too soon for Andrew’s liking, but he knows it’s far from the last time they’ll do this, so he’s content with it for now.

“Hey, so,” Andrew says. “I just wanted to check—we’re doing this, yeah?”

“You mean—” Travis does this weird head bob thing that Andrew would probably tease him for in different circumstances. “Us?”  

“Yeah,” Andrew. “Like, I just—I’ve got, like, hella feelings for you, dude.”

It’s not the most eloquent sentence ever spoken, but, Andrew figures, it’s from the heart.

Travis huffs out a laugh, probably thinking the same thing. “Likewise.”

“Alright,” Andrew says, grinning as he pulls Travis closer. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” Travis says, and then, kind of smug, “As always.”

“We really are a good match,” Andrew says, and then their smiles are slotting together, falling back in sync like they were never out of it.

**Author's Note:**

>  **bonus content:**  
>  dicky clune: and that, jeremy, is the story of how two of your teammates found true love  
> jeremy bracco: okay that's great for them, but i am trying to sleep and they are STILL going at it in the next room  
> dicky clune: yeah they really are loud  
> jeremy bracco: what is travis even doing here? isn't he in the nhl now?  
> dicky clune: true love finds a way i guess?


End file.
